


counterfeit

by aelescribe



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:59:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelescribe/pseuds/aelescribe
Summary: Up until very recently Nico was a child of Hades who didn’t speak English, much less Latin. He didn’t know Hazel, the only person vouching for him, and vice versa. Oh, and he was dead.Jason is always there, watching, waiting. For him to mess up? Maybe. For his disguise to slip? Probably. But Nico just doesn’t know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> jasico week day 5 prompt: personality swap. uhhh....... may have focused more on the "swap" than the personality part. oops.

Nico toes a stray arrow with his foot, bemoaning his misfortune in Italian under his breath. Frank just _had_ to clean up around the villa and Nico got stuck with the training grounds _again_. He swears someone’s assigning him all the worst shifts on purpose.

Of course he has to prove himself as a Roman when his sister dropped him off at camp with no less than veiled threats to the praetors who were hesitant to take him. They have a point, he supposes. Up until very recently he was a child of Hades who didn’t speak English, much less Latin. He didn’t know Hazel, the only person vouching for him, and vice versa. Oh, and he was dead.

 _Was_. It’s weird to think of, now. All he remembers are gray fields and some wisp of companionship--family, perhaps. He doesn’t know. When he thinks on it too hard, he gets faint. And he can’t go fainting around Camp Jupiter if he’s going to keep up his cover. That’s the contention Hazel rescued him on--she’d grant him life again, keep him safe, but he _had_ to lay low in Camp Jupiter and await her further instruction. Something big was happening and he was to play a part in it.

He doesn’t feel used by Hazel, per say, especially when she took his spectral glowing hand in her own and insisted, “You deserve a second chance”. Even if he doesn’t think it’s true. His memories give him almost nothing to go on to prove her right.

Until then, he’ll just keep sweeping up stray arrows and practice dummy straw.

The sun is setting, shining through the cracks and windows of the colosseum. A warm breeze wafts the air. Nico scratches at his undercut and breathes in spring, sighing softly, taking a moment to himself.

“Hard at work?”

“ _Ade, mi hai spaventato!_ ” rushes out of his mouth and he drops the broom out of surprise. He scrambles to pick it up again and reigns himself back in, trying to remain calm as he turns to face the visitor. “Praetor Grace. What are you doing here? It’s after hours.” 

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.” The extreme hardness of Jason’s face makes Nico laugh nervously, not sure if he intends a joke. But the praetor gives him a twitch of his lips to work with.

Jason Grace is the most direct threat to his cover.

Reyna is surprisingly understanding. Despite Hazel’s warnings, she’s been the most help since he arrived. No one else at the camp speaks Italian, but she speaks Spanish, and Nico still struggles with English. She happened to be around when he was in desperate need of translation to avoid unnecessary trouble. It was difficult, at first, but they were able to get by thanks to the similarity between the languages. And now they can both understand each other fairly well.

But Jason… Jason is another hurdle entirely.

His cold blue eyes are always present, always watching. Whenever Nico walks into a room they immediately settle on him. He’ll be cleaning in the praetor’s villa and meet his gaze through the window he’s washing. As Nico drops off documents to Reyna, he’ll blatantly stare, losing all other focus until he’s left. He even looks delighted when Nico jumps at hearing that firm voice suddenly behind him.

Whatever he’s looking for, whatever he sees in Nico, he tries to downplay. He doesn’t know what else he can do to look less suspicious. He hardly talks to anyone besides Frank or Reyna (though he’s a chatterbox when his sister visits; but that’s different) and he follows every order to the letter.

Yet Jason is always there, watching, waiting. For him to mess up? Maybe. For his disguise to slip? Probably. But Nico just doesn’t know.

“Well… it’s good to see you,” Nico says hesitantly, quickly adding, “Praetor Grace.”

Jason holds up a hand. “Please. I get so tired of formalities. Just Jason is fine.”

“Uh,” is Nico’s intelligent response.

“It’s after hours, after all,” Jason points out. “You won’t get in trouble, I promise. I’m not looking for you to fail, cadet--Nico.” Nico can barely help himself from asking, _Then what_ are _you looking for?_

All the same, he likes the way Jason says his name. All other words that pour from his lips seem cold, unattached to anything. But he says Nico’s name with intention, purpose. He gives Jason a nod and returns to his sweeping. Not to seem like he’s ignoring his superior, he says, “I’m almost done with my duties for the day.”

“Of course. Don’t let me distract you from your work.” But Jason doesn’t move. Doesn’t leave.

The broom is so tight in Nico’s grasp he’s afraid it will splinter in his hands. Those blue eyes follow him from one end of the arena to the other. When Nico’s ticked the last box on his daily inventory sheet, Jason is at his side, procuring the clipboard from him and setting it aside on one of the training benches.

“Praetor?” he asks, voice faltering. He can’t bring himself to say Jason’s name.

Jason frowns but otherwise doesn’t comment. “Which of these weapons are you most accustomed with, Nico?” he asks, sweeping his gaze across the many rows of celestial bronze and wooden weapons.

Nico swallows. “I haven’t had much training, praetor,” he admits. “Most of my duties have been busy work and chores.”

“As is the case for all _probatio_ ,” he assures Nico. “But the wolf house. Or instinct. Which are you most comfortable with?” Nico’s gaze runs over the weapons and shivers. He takes too long to answer because Jason continues, “None, then. That’s fine. Work our way from the ground up.”

Nico blinks. “What?”

Jason shreds his praetor robe and carefully hangs it over one of the racks. He pulls a coin from his pocket and flips it. It turns into a golden sword mid air, which he catches easily in his palm. He swings at the air a few times, testing it, and nods approvingly. His cold eyes flicker to Nico. “Is _that_ the position you’re choosing?”

Nico’s just standing there and he starts to fumble with his words, “I-I don’t--Praetor, what--” A frown creases Jason’s brow and he rushes forward. Nico, ever the poet, simply yells and ducks under the blow. Jason then tips him to the ground with his heel and points his sword at Nico’s chest.

“You’re dead,” he says. He pulls his sword back and snaps his fingers. “Again.”

“... What?”

“On your feet, cadet. You get another chance. Soldiers don’t have that luxury, so _try_ this time.” Nico shakily stands, rattled by the graveness in Jason’s tone. He’s barely on his feet when Jason rushes for him again. He defeats him as easily as he did the first time.

So Nico goes again. _You’re dead._ And again. _You’re dead._ And again. _You’re dead._

There’s something blazing and insistent in Jason’s eyes when he says, “Again.” Nico might once compare those eyes to ice, but they’re more like blue fire, now. He hasn’t broken a sweat even though Nico feels drenched. Stars have begun to dart the darkening sky.

“But, praetor, it’s almost curfew--”

“ _Again_ ,” Jason growls. Nico tries to ignore the shiver sliding down his spine. He lunges at Jason and the praetor easily grabs him by his shirt, judo flips him, and points his sword at Nico’s throat once the dust has settled. “You’re dead. Again.”

Nico stands up, scratches at his undercut. So much for flying under the radar. Jason won’t let him get out of this, not so easily, anyway. He can hear Hazel biting her nails hundreds of miles away.

He has some vague idea of why Jason might be provoking him. He wants to get a read on Nico’s physical prowess. Sure, he’s small. Bony. Wiry. But he’s a child of Hades. Or, Pluto. Rumors of his powers follow him around camp, and he’s only seen the barest extent from Hazel. Even when he stared at her in awe she begged him to be careful. The world is not kind to children of death.

Death inspires fear, and anything to do with his powers could terrify even the most powerful demigods. He can’t add to any animosity surrounding his sudden appearance. So he doesn’t--won’t-- _can’t_ fight.

Now he has no choice. No weapon. He has to try another tactic. He tries to kick Jason’s feet out from under him to trip him but Jason’s too fast, sword coming down next to his leg and cutting Nico’s shin to put a stop to his assault. He swings his weapon back up and then down towards Nico, who rolls out of the way barely in time, sending a cloud of dust up behind him.

Nico grows frantic, breathing hard as he ducks away from another blow. He cringes when Jason manages to wound him with another particularly deep scratch. He has no qualms about holding back, even against Nico, unarmed and untrained as he is.

Jason turns Nico’s tactic against him and kicks his legs out from under him. He goes crashing to the ground, cheek smushed against the dirt. He feels Jason’s sword digging into his back. “You’re dead,” Jason repeats. “Again.”

And it continues. Over and over. Nico barely gets an advantage over him. It’s late into the night, the moon high above New Rome, and everyone asleep when Jason walks to him for another finishing blow.

Nico is covered from head to toe in dirt or sweat, sprawled out on the training ground. He’s bruised, bloody, dirty, and tired. It’s way too hot for it to be night time, he thinks, and he still has to wake up in three hours at six in the morning to start his duties.

Jason stands triumphant above him, clean of wounds, besides the off bruise or scratch where Nico’s hands managed to graze his skin. Only by some fluke, Nico’s sure the praetor thinks, with his broad shoulders high and haughty. Jason’s scarred lip twitches into a smirk. It’s only for a second, but it was _there_ , and Nico feels rage boil inside him when he opens his mouth to say _again_.

  
And with those two syllables, everything inside Nico _bursts_. Screw what Hazel said. He’s exhausted and exasperated and he just wants Jason to stop looking at him, to leave him alone, let him rest before he goes and works himself into a coma.

Nico pounds the floor in defeat with his fist. The ground pulses beneath him, shaking, and tears open. Several skeletons pour out, green smoking billowing from the fissure with them. They instinctively shield them, drawing bony weapons, opposing the praetor.

Through the emerald fog, he can see Jason’s eyes glinting with triumph beneath his initially shocked expression. The ghost of a grin is back on his face. The skeletons don’t last long against Jason’s eager arm, and when they collapse, Nico clenches his fist to close the earth back up. Jason is actually _smiling_. It’s unnerving.

The praetor looks over Nico’s prone figure and pulls him onto his knees by tugging his arm. Nico groans, the world spinning around him, and his head lolls to the side. He feels vomit curdling in the pit of his stomach, its acrid taste soaking his insides. If he coughs now, he thinks blood might come up.

“There,” says Jason, crouching in front of him. “Was that so hard?” Nico glares at Jason, despises his patronizing tone, his steady jaw, his blue eyes.

  
“What?” Nico snaps. Jason peers at Nico’s dark eyes for a second, averting his gaze at last with a shake of his head. He stands and for a moment, Nico thinks he’ll hit him again--but instead, he flicks Nico’s forehead gently. Almost fondly. The action is familiar, but he can’t place it. It itches in the back of his mind.     
  
There’s no time to dwell on it. Jason is there again, insistent, “You finally used your powers.” He sounds… _proud_ .   
  
Odd. Nico shakes his head, thinking of his sister. “I shouldn’t have. I lost control.”   
  
“There will be a day when a battle calls for it and you will be unprepared. You can’t be scared of using your powers, no matter how out of control they are.”

Nico keeps his gaze on the ground, fists clenched. The praetor may be right, but he can’t afford to think like that. He has so much to hide and too much to lose. Even if Jason’s voice rings in his ears with sympathy. Nico is far past that point, now. Sympathy is dangerous. That’s closeness, that’s fondness, that’s a risk he can’t take.

“Noted. May I go now, praetor Grace?” Nico’s still shaking on his knees, not looking at his sparring partner. “My morning duties are in a few hours.”  
  
The son of Jupiter doesn’t answer, blue eyes taking in Nico’s weakened form with something akin to contempt in his eyes. “Are you always this docile?” He sounds frustrated. That’s the most emotion Nico’s heard out of him all night.   
  
“Praetor Grace. May I _please_ go,” he repeats, raspier. He’d just run off if he had the strength, and the courage that Jason couldn’t catch up to him.   
  
The praetor releases a long sigh. “You may. Under one condition.” Nico freezes mid step, his legs screaming in protest, ready to give out any second. “Call me Jason.”   
  
Nico’s nose scrunches in dismay. He doesn’t know what the praetor is playing at. Others are more upfront with their motivations, their trickery and mistrust of him on his behalf. He’s spent too many hours close with Jason, now, and he’s no closer to figuring out what exactly Jason’s looking for in him. But now, he supposes, he has nothing left to lose. And maybe Jason will leave if he gives in.

Nico thinks otherwise, though. Jason is stubborn. Stubborn enough to make Nico get up time and time again when he _knew_ Nico wouldn’t get the upper hand. And Nico was stubborn enough to try and prove him wrong.

His voice is strained, but strong, when he says, “May I go, Jason.”  
  
“You’re dismissed,” Jason responds the second his name rolls off Nico’s tongue. His own form of giving in.   
  
Nico aches when he stands, every joint, muscle and bone in him crying out with pain. He contemplates just staying awake until morning, getting a several hour head start on his duties for the day, and then sneaking off the retire early.

The colosseum starts to sway in his vision, reminding him of the leaning tower in his home country. He misses it. For a second, he thinks of his family. Mother. Sister. Thinks of the thunder booming in his ears. Nico starts to sway, too.

Jason catches as soon as he starts to collapse.

In a moment of weakness, Nico lets Jason hold him, leans into him for support. He smells of some wintery musk that shouldn’t be so prevalent when they’ve spent the last several hours sparring and sweating. He hates to admit the appeal of Jason’s hold, and the warm hands that met his battered skin, eager to lift him up.

  
Nico knows how dangerous this is. He won’t let himself dwell. He recoils from the touch and turns to go, footsteps faltering away from Jason.   
  
“You’re excused from your duties tomorrow,” Jason says, easily falling into Nico’s cadence while he pulls his robes back on. “I’ll let Dakota and Gwen know—you substituted with a special training assignment with me. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”   
  
“No,” Nico says stubbornly, though the praise makes him light headed in a pleasant way. He can’t accept that. He spent minimal time in the wolf house. All he does around camp are chores. He’s hardly pulling his weight compared to the other cadets. At this point, it’s not just a matter of maintaining his cover. It’s a matter of pride. “With all due respect, I have not, praetor. Not by a long shot. If I can’t manage to clean some windows and hold a broom after tonight, then I’m hardly fit for the legion.”   
  
Jason frowns, brows knit together in some uncharacteristic display of concern. Not the cold, hard facade Nico is used to. “You’ve pushed yourself. That’s all I ask.”   
  
“I will keep pushing myself. Others ask much more than you.” They’re out of the colosseum now, cold night air soothing Nico’s burning wounds.   
  
“You don’t have to meet their expectations. You’ll play right into what they want.” He sounds as though he’s talking from experience, with how _bitter_ that tongue is.   
  
“Or I don’t and they make things much worse for me anyway. Standing out or blending in... I’m a target either way.” Jason’s great blue eyes well with sympathy, and a compassion that startles Nico.

It leaves as quickly as it comes, replaced with Jason’s usual impassive face, only betrayed by his contradicting lips, “At least let me walk you back to the barracks.”  
  
Nico turns his head and it sends his entire body spinning. “Not necessary, praetor Grace.”   
  
He bites his lip. “ _Jason_ ,” Nico hears him correct in a soft voice.

“Jason--” Nico echoes, mildly frustrated. He’s wasting time and the very small amount of energy he has left by arguing with Jason. “I can do this on my own.” But when he takes a step, he staggers, tripping over his worn feet and hitting the ground face first. He doesn’t even groan.

  
“Nico,” Jason says, voice firm, but Nico refuses to listen. He’ll drag himself back to the barracks even if it kills him.   
  
“I. Am. _Fine_.” he says with some difficulty, pushing himself up with his shaking arms, only for them to collapse under him again.

Jason immediately stoops beside him, threading his arm around Nico’s waist, and Nico’s arm around his shoulders. They’re broad, strong. Nico would like them more if they hadn’t spent tonight beating him into the dirt.

They spend half the distance limping towards the barracks, Nico’s feet dragging behind them both. Jason gets fed up with this and just lifts Nico into his arms. They go much faster after that, though Jason keeps his pace respectfully moderate so as not to upset Nico’s bruised body.

Nico thanks all the gods, Greek, Roman, _whoever_ for everyone being asleep right now.

“You hardly weigh anything,” Jason comments quietly. Perhaps a joke. Perhaps trying to make conversation. Perhaps out of concern.

Nico doesn’t respond, head nestled in the space between Jason’s jaw and shoulder. Nico thought he was too hot to handle any heat but Jason’s warmth is subtle and pleasant, comforting, not overbearing. His hand curls into the soft fabric of the praetor’s robe.

“Malnourished, untrained…” Jason shakes his head, releasing a long breath through his nose. Nico thinks this is it: his cover’s blown. Jason’s going to toss him into the tiber and not look back. But it sounds quiet, a reflection, when he murmurs, “We have to do better. _I_ have to do better.”

He drops Nico back on his feet well before they reach the guards at the barracks, perhaps to spare him some embarrassment. Nico thinks he has barely enough strength to drag himself the rest of the way there and collapse just inside the door.

  
“Shower and then head to your bunk,” Jason instructs. That cold tone has returned. “Meet me back at the training grounds tomorrow.” Jason says, indifferent to the pleading in Nico’s eyes, his plummeting stomach.

He bids Jason goodnight with a nod, can feel those blue eyes lingering all the way to the doorstep of the barracks. Frank, Nico’s bunkmate, is standing guard.

“Was that the praetor?” His eyebrows creep cautiously up his forehead as he takes in Nico’s haggard appearance. Nico sighs, fixing Frank with a weak glare that begs him not to ask. Frank pats his bunk mate’s shoulder. “Try and get some sleep.”

Blue lightning fills the few hours of sleep Nico does get and he returns to the training grounds the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

Hazel’s dripping with gryphon blood and Nico can’t even string together a sentence of thanks or admiration for how  _ cool _ she looks. Coily hair tied back, golden knife clutched in hand, dark eyes gleaming intensely. 

She uses the hem of her oversized jean jacket to clean the blade. Nico wonders if the tears there are from roughing it or because she thinks it looks awesome. Which it does. Even though she’s half a foot shorter. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Everything’s fine. We’re fine.” She scrutinizes Nico. “You don’t speak English, do you?”

He recognizes  _ English _ in whatever she’s saying, but that’s it. “No English,” he mumbles, hoping he doesn’t sound stupid.

Her face softens. “Any other languages?”

Nico isn’t sure what she’s asking.

She ruffles his hair. “We need to get you a trim.”

They leave the Underworld together, Hazel glancing over her shoulder the entire time. He misses the familiar cold and gray of the underneath. Down there, he could understand her. There are no language barriers between the dead. Only lost spirits moaning and mourning for what was. That is universal.

Hazel found him beneath a scant tree, scant himself, all whispy in death and bony in life. Her head tilted, curious. “I’m going to get in trouble for this,” she had sighed. “Come with me.” She held out her hand.

Nico doesn’t know anything.

No, really, he doesn’t. Not even his name, until he passes through the gates of the underworld and that token is granted. All he knows is that Hazel thinks he’s worth saving from an eternity of dull misery. “You’re my brother,” she had said. The word carries weight, importance. It made his eyes sting. “You deserve a second chance as much as anyone.”

But he has barely a memory of the life he left behind, the life he lost. The life that was  _ taken _ as Hazel insists, and thankfully, doesn’t elaborate her grim statement. Nico doesn’t think he could take it. All he feels is cold and empty--nothing. Can you feel absence? He wonders if it’s possible, if the aching in his soul as it strays from the fields of Asphodel can be described outside of absence. A lacking of. Something missing.

They’re outside of a bright convenience store, chowing down on cardboard burgers, sandwiched between two dumpsters, when Nico learns  _ Thank you _ .

He heard Hazel say it to the cashier, who handed her a blanket and let her take what she wanted off the shelves when she slammed down a handful of gold coins and bills. The cashier smiled, and so did Hazel, albeit thin and wan.

“Thank you,” he repeats quietly to himself, tasting the words, trying to understand.

Hazel looks up from her food. “Huh?”

“Thank you,” he repeats. 

Hazel can’t be much older than him, if she even is older. She’s got little to go off of, little to share, but she gives it all to Nico. And he doesn’t even think he deserves it. All he can give is thanks, so he gives.

Hazel blinks her big brown eyes and then smiles. Genuine, pleasant. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long way to go.” She pulls the blanket over them both and they nestle their heads on her knapsack. Nico’s asleep in minutes.

Nico learns English in bits and pieces. Hazel summons a ghost--really, truly, a spectral being--to act as a translator until Nico has a basic understanding. They sneak children’s books from the libraries and work their way up to novels as they travel across America.

He remembers America vaguely, but he knows he didn’t grow up here. He misses red brick, ivy filling in the cracks of stone, and the sunset over an eternal river, snaking down every street and road he can find. A boy standing on the edge of a canal, gondola for the two of them, all curls and big brown eyes. Italy, he learns one day, tracing the boot on an atlas map. When he closes his eyes, he can taste grapes sweet on the back of his tongue.

“You’re my  _ sister _ ,” he says one day.

“Yes,” she nods. “We have the same father. Well--” Her nose scrunches. “Sort of. My father is the Roman aspect. Yours is Greek.”

“So… not sister?”

“No, I am. And you’re my brother. It’s… complicated, to put it lightly.” She scuffs the earth with her sneakers. Nico closes  _ The Little Prince _ and gives her an endearing look. She caves, “So, you know our dad is a god. But the gods have more than one aspect. Different personalities and traits, even if they’re essentially the same being.”

He nods. It doesn’t make sense, but he was dead a few weeks ago, so he doesn’t question anything now. 

“Our dad is not supposed to have children,” she says, looking uncomfortable. “The big three gods, Pluto, Jupiter and Neptune--”

“Hades, Zeus, Poseidon,” Nico recites.

“Yes. They made a pact not to have anymore children after the great war.” She chuckles, turning her palms up, clenching tiny fists. “Yet here we are.”

“Miracle,” Nico says quietly, pondering the fact that his existence is illegal. Breaks the most absolute, godly laws.

“Some might say,” Hazel sighs. “A miracle you’re here, at least.” She ruffles his hair and the gesture makes him want to cry. Whatever memory spurs such a response is missing, though, so he stares at his lap instead. 

Children of Hades--Pluto, Hazel corrects him gently, aren’t looked on kindly or welcomed anywhere. Hence the running around, sleeping behind dumpsters. Hazel has the word  _ Vagabond _ stitched onto the left shoulder of her jacket. Nico likes the word.

She takes him to the house of wolves and it’s there he meets Lupa. “I need your blessing,” Hazel says, hands clasped. “Nico must join the ranks of Camp Jupiter.”

The giant wolf circles Nico. He flinches when she sniffs around his legs. He’s struck with the urge to pet her, but he doesn’t think she’d enjoy that. “This  _ Graecus _ stinks,” she huffs. “Even if I granted you permission, he’d be found out instantly.”

“Give him a chance,” Hazel begs, but Nico doesn’t understand why she’s vouching for him. He’s done nothing to prove himself, doesn’t even have any memories to go off of, can’t back himself up to anyone.

Nico stays in the wolf house for two weeks and then Hazel takes him to Camp Jupiter. He has just enough time to learn the very basics of fighting, tracking, hunting. Obedience. All traits of a good Roman. 

“Nico… you know my powers?” she asks. A few gems litter her feet, popping up like daisies. That happens when she gets nervous. Nico’s learned not to touch them. “Not just gems, but… shadows. Ghosts.” She’s not as proficient with that as she is with the earth itself, she admitted to him before, due to the difference in Pluto and Hades.

He thinks it’s impressive, no matter how pained Hazel looks when she must resort to it. “Yes.”

“You have all the same powers. Maybe different. Probably different.” She puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes, looking him dead in the eye. “You can’t use them. You can’t expose yourself anymore than you already are. If you draw attention to yourself--any bit, no matter how unwanted--it’s a risk we can’t take.”

We. Hazel’s leaving, but they’re still in this together.

“I understand,” he promises.

She leads him past the guards at the gate, keeping his head high and ignoring their curious looks. He keeps his hands still at his sides, even when he wants to itch the back of his head. He’s never had it this short before; the top is still curly, but Hazel shaved the sides and back. She says it looks good and he trusts her, even if he misses his long hair.

Hazel marches up to a marble, official looking building. She leads Nico through rich red hallways, past more guards and tapestries, who politely nod at her as she hurries past. They seem almost frightened to approach. He doesn’t blame them. Hazel may be half the average Roman’s size, but she’s the most intimidating out of all the ones Nico has seen so far.

She walks into a closed office and with no preamble, gives Nico a push forward. “This is my brother. He’s here to join the legion.”

Two teenagers-- _ praetors _ , sit at the desk, poring over a map and mounds of documents. They’re both serious, cutting with their glares, and their scrutinizing makes Nico want to cower in the corner. He’ll take his chances with the underworld.

“We’re in the middle of something, Hazel,” the girl says, dark braid falling over her shoulder. It’s almost painfully familiar and Nico blinks, trying to place the memory. It’s too faint. Dandelion dust, sprinkling the wind. “Can this wait?”

“No.” She sounds smug, beneath her determination. If Nico was anywhere else, he’d laugh. But he clenches his fists and clears his throat instead, ready to state his case. The boy frowns at him. His entire demeanor seems cold, chilling Nico to the core. 

“At least introduce us, first,” he says, deep voice twisting Nico’s gut.

He recites the phrase he’s said in every spare moment of breath he and Hazel have had on their journey to San Francisco. “My name is Nico di Angelo. I’m Hazel’s sister, a son of Pluto, and I’m here to join the legion.”

The praetors exchange a look. Curious. Cautious. Nico doesn’t blame them. Son of Pluto is no lie but it still leaves chalk in his mouth.

After arguing over some logistics with Hazel on Nico’s legitimacy, the girl praetor leads him to his quarters with the fifth cohort. There’s something about the way the cohort’s name is said, the way people look at that building, that makes Nico antsy. It’s unwanted, it’s lesser.

At least he’ll fit right in.

“I’ve assigned Frank Zhang as your bunkmate,” the praetor says. “You two will get along.” She’s so sure and steady of herself, Nico can’t help but cling to that, when every part of him falters.

“Thank you, praetor,” he says. He clutches the camp shirt and knapsack of essentials issued to him, the closed door daunting.

“Report with the rest of your cohort to your duties in the morning. Zhang will fill you in on your role.” She pauses before she leaves, her eyes softening the tiniest bit. It surprises Nico, and he’s sure it shows. “Welcome to Camp Jupiter, Nico.”

“Thank you,” he says again, adding her title as a stuttering afterthought. 

Nico takes the top bunk and spends hours staring at the ceiling, thinking about Hazel. Thinking about the life he lost. He can’t remember, but he misses it so much. Praetor Ramirez’s kind eyes, her dark hair--he scrubs at the unwitting tears pooling over. But when he starts crying, he can’t stop.

He stifles the sound into his bony arm, cursing the burn, the shame as all his emotions leak down his face. He’ll allow himself this one moment of weakness. Tomorrow, he has to be strong. He has to be quiet. He has to be a good Roman. 

He thinks of Hazel and nothing seems so impossible anymore.

Nico wakes up the next morning with red eyes and tousled hair. “Rough first night?” Frank asks as he jumps down from his bunk. The rest of the boys are in various states of undress, groaning as they get ready for the day.

Nico keeps his gaze on the floor and doesn’t say anything, afraid Frank might make fun of him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Lots of guys--well, I don’t know if anyone else did, they probably wouldn’t say. But I cried my first night here, too.” Still, he lowers his voice, afraid of ridicule, but he smiles kindly at Nico. “We’ve been through a lot.”

Nico feels a great weight lift off his chest and he raises his head to give Frank a hesitant smile. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. “We have.”

He decides purple is an admirable color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive got an idea of what more i wanna do with this, but we’re still gonna keep it loose. enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> here i am back at it again w my roleswap aus............ im thinking about writing more for this au, so let me know if that's something you'd be interested in! i think there's a lot of fun stuff to play around with. and hope you enjoyed it! c:


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